Back To The Motherland: 30 Days About Me

I am an Irish American. With a name like Erin, you probably figured that out already. On my mom's side, we are descendants of the Howards (who really are Welsh, but also lived in Ireland) and my dad's grandparents were Pierson and Rose Gilliland, who were first generation Americans; my grandma Sally, their daughter, married Harold Harris, also Irish. So I'm pretty much an Irish gal who was born in America.

I have always wanted to see Ireland. To see the land where my ancestors came from, to breathe the air, to see the green, green fields, to drive the narrow country roads and eat at a pub while drinking some warm beer (dark beer, please, not this yellow stuff we American's call beer). I want to walk the streets of Dublin and Galway, stay in some country castle turned hotel-estate, and eat corned beef and cabbage where my great-great grandmother learned to cook it.

When I was in England I met an older Irish man who on first glance though I was Irish, too. He told me that Ireland was calling me home, and that I had her soil in my veins. If that's not a call to the motherland, I don't know what is.

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